


Controlled Burn

by gmmontano92



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst and Drama, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Instability, Multi, Pre-Debut BTS, Romance, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmmontano92/pseuds/gmmontano92
Summary: "I never wanted to hurt Yoongi. I never wanted to be the thing that broke him. I had always believed Yoongi was the thing keeping me going. That he somehow held the key to unlock the happiness that hid deep inside me. But I realized then that he was only a distraction, an excuse. Something I wanted so much that I convinced myself he was a necessity."
Relationships: Kim Taehyung | V/Original Female Character(s), Min Yoongi | Suga/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE:**

I stood in front of my bedroom’s full-length mirror, staring at the reflection before me. The navy blue pleated skirt and blazer, accented with a yellow color bordering the collar and lapel, only emphasized the perfectly starched bright white polo underneath. My long black hair curled in ringlets around my face. I tried to move my bangs behind my ear for a more presentable look but they kept falling back in my face. Sighing, I smoothed out my uniform and turned from side to side to make sure everything looked good from each angle. It was my first day of high school and “nervous” didn’t even make a dent in how I actually felt. Starting a new school is nerve-wrecking enough but unlike most freshmen, I didn’t have my friends from middle or elementary school to accompany me. No one I knew at all. My father is in the United States Army and until now I attended a DoDEA school at Camp Walker in Daegu. Now that I’m entering high school I’ve successfully convinced my father to allow me to continue my secondary education elsewhere.

Attending school off base wasn’t too difficult but convincing him to let me move to another city was an entirely different challenge. I somehow managed to convince him, provided I follow certain rules. Now, as I’m standing practically frozen in my dorm, I’m thinking I may have made a mistake. Too late now. I finally muster up the courage to leave just in time to barely make the train. I’ve never minded the train so much. It was the bus that triggered my anxiety. Too many people too close together and none too accommodating to a foreigner. Even though I’ve lived in South Korea for 10 years I still stand out as someone who doesn’t belong. My dark skin and curled hair make it impossible for me not to. I will always be a foreigner here.

I can’t help myself from making a lotion out of the sweat on my hands, constantly rubbing them together and fidgeting out of nervousness as I make my way toward the building. As soon as I walk through the door, I'm already the object of attention. Gawking stairs and whispers knock are directed toward me with little to no subtlety. Though it's something I've learned to deal with living in such a racially homogeneous country, I still feel uneasy as I make my way through the hall. I can see a group of girls whispering and giggling as I walk closer to them. I try to ignore them as I walk pass. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice one approaching me until after my books were knocked to the floor. I looked down at them and then back at her. She made no move to stoop down to retrieve them while her friends laughed behind her. I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding and squat down to collect my things. When I stepped to the right, she would step in front of me. When I stepped to the left, so would she. I was becoming impatient. The attention we were attracting began to increase. This dance went on for another 10 seconds before I shoved her out of the way with one arm. Bad idea.

The hall became quiet and the look of shock on the girl’s face would have been amusing if the others around me carried a look of anything other than intimidating anger. I walked away (a little too quickly) and rushed to my first class. As soon as I entered I shut the door hard behind me and looked out the window to make sure I wasn’t followed. I sighed an English curse as I rested my head on the door. Slowly spinning around, I gasped another expletive as I saw someone sitting in the otherwise empty classroom. His stare was intense though not threatening, with both brows furrowed in confusion before smoothly transitioning into a single brow cocked in -- what I would assume, a mixture of surprise and amusement. I ran my hand over my hair and started walking toward my seat.

“Class doesn’t start for another 15 minutes.”

I looked at the boy who didn’t even bother to lift his head as he spoke. I slowly sat down in my seat, taking my eyes off him.

“I know,” I answered, dryly.

“Then why are you here?”

An aggravated moan escaped my lips. ‘Not this again’, I thought.

“Why are you?” My frustration caused my response to come off a little more hostile than I intended. He must have thought so, too because he turned his head toward me with the same look I had received from him not even a minute before. Only this time, there was no mistaking it. There was no amusement.

He slowly looked back down at his notebook after a moment and responded, nonchalantly, “I always come in early.”

“Well,” I started matter-of-factly, “so do I.”

He shrugged and continued writing. I looked around the classroom, taking everything in. It was a very bland room with nothing on the walls and just a white board in front. The air was cold and I was thankful I had the blazer on. “Your Korean is surprisingly good.” I looked at the boy, who was seated a few seats away from me. His head was still lowered and he continued to write.

A reaction I'm used to getting, my response was only a simple nod, not really feeling up to answer the barrage of questions inevitably following when people find out I've been here as long as I have. So I just stayed quiet.

“What brings you to Seoul?” He still didn’t turn toward me or even look in my direction, but he did stop writing.

My simple answer. “School.” I paused, waiting for his response. He simply nodded so, I continued. “I moved here from Daegu –”

“Daegu?” He asked suddenly, turning toward me. It was the first time I really saw his face. I paused, taken by his sudden interruption. “Um, yeah. Nam-gu. My father’s in the Army. He got stationed here when I was like seven. Been here ever since.”

He half smiled, nodding his head again. “Buk,” he said pointing to himself. “I’m here to work. I make music.”

“Oh,” I responded, a little too enthusiastically. I was intrigued. I lowered my tone a little. “What kind?”

He shrugged. “Rap, mainly. But I make whatever makes me feel good.”

We looked at each other for a moment before he shot his eyes to the ground. I quickly looked down as well, forgetting the Korean culture faux pas of looking someone directly in the eye for too long. He didn’t turn back around, just kind of stayed frozen, fidgeting with the back of his seat while looking to the floor. I had to say something to relieve the awkwardness.

“I’m Hallie, by the way,” I said quickly, giving my name. “Hallie Walker”.

He looked up, a tiny grin on his face. “Min Yoongi.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading. New chapters are added daily <3

I stayed quiet for a moment, searching my brain for where I’d heard that name before. It was only once or twice but it did sound familiar. By this time, Yoongi had already turned around, his pencil in between two fingers, smacking the desk.

And then it hit me. “Gloss!” I exclaimed.

His whole body turned completely toward me as he smirked. Before he could say anything I had already moved up to the seat next to him, his eyes following me the whole way.

“I knew you looked familiar! You’re Gloss from D-Town. Me and my friends used to sneak out to see you guys!”

“Sneak out,” he questioned. I realized I had used the English word for sneak out. I sat there puzzled, trying to figure out a Korean equivalent but nothing came to mind.

“Leave home without permission.” I smiled, longingly, thinking back to a year ago. “N.T., Smile, Donano, S. Per…and Gloss.”

I looked up at him. His smiling look of interest turned into that of surprise and then, just as quickly, returned to a look of satisfaction. The fangirl in me couldn’t keep my mouth from moving, so I continued, at an almost rambling pace. “Man, we were so upset when we didn’t see you on stage anymore. We never knew what happened…”

I looked back up at him and suddenly stopped. The look on his face was a mix of both happiness and sadness as he turned his head back down to his paper. I instinctively did the same. I fumbled with the corner of my notebook, wondering if I had said something wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I forced. I don’t even know what I was sorry for. Bringing down the mood? Bringing up a bad memory? Not being able to read the mood entirely? I don’t know. My mind is blank and the more I stare at my unopened notebook, the more I feel an increasing feeling of uncertainty. Yoongi sat still, his eyes on his paper and pencil in hand, though not touching the paper itself. He didn’t respond to my apology. I’m not even sure he heard it.

“I got an opportunity here,” he said, speaking just barely above a whisper.

I nodded and shrugged. “As long as you’re still doing music. You gotta do what makes you happy.”

I hadn’t noticed he was looking at me until I heard the classroom door open and saw his head turn quickly back to the table. Students began to pile into the room noisily, something that seemed to make Yoongi tense up. I sat up in my chair, my back stiffening when I saw the girl from earlier walk in. “Just my luck,” I mumbled under my breath.

Yoongi looked at me curiously before glancing at the girl walking toward me. She stood in between our desks with her one hand on her hip. I can see ignoring her presence isn’t going to work. I sighed and slowly looked up at her.

“Can I help you,” I asked, bored.

“You’re in my seat.” I looked around the room in mock-interest. There were at least four other open seats. I thought, I could just make things easy and move to one of the open desks, but my stubbornness wouldn’t allow it.

“Something wrong with the other seats,” I asked.

“There’s something wrong with THIS seat.”

I raised a questioning brow, slowly responding. “Which is…”

The girl was becoming impatient, though she didn’t let it show. Her eyebrow raised cooly. “It’s MY seat and you’re in it.”

“And?”

“And I want it.”

At this time we were garnering attention from the other classmates, including Yoongi. I let out a bored sigh. “Well I want a sundae but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna get it.”

There were a few chuckles throughout the room. Even Yoongi breathed a laugh and smiled. This didn’t seem to sit right with her. She slowly walked closer toward me, blocking any chance I had to move, even if I wanted to. Her arms were crossed now.

“I can help you move if you’d like,” she said in an overly friendly tone.

Evenly, I retort, “Like you did earlier?”

The peanut gallery made varying ‘ooh’s’, causing the girl to become even more bothered. She put a hand on either side of my desk-chair. “Listen, you little b—”

“Hyejoo, just go sit down.” We both looked at the voice. He made no effort to look in our direction, just continued looking at his paper and scribbling. Both of Hyejoo’s eyebrows heightened in surprise. I couldn’t hide my surprise either. Hyejoo straightened and flipped her dark hair behind her shoulder.

“Well,” she started, “looks like he _can_ do more than write.”

She turned on her heel and reluctantly sauntered off to another seat. I stared at Yoongi, interestingly. I was stunned. This girl didn’t look the type to take orders from anybody. Who was this Min Yoongi to her?

After class I hurriedly gathered my things. Hyejoo stopped by my desk, leaning over.

“This isn’t over,” she whispered, menacingly. “He wont always protect you.”

I rolled my eyes as she walked away and hurried out the classroom to catch up with Yoongi, who was already halfway down the hall.

“Hey,” I half yelled and grabbed his shoulder – an act that startled him. I apologetically took my hand away and wrapped it back around my books, looking at the floor suddenly bashful. “Thanks for that back there.”

Yoongi shrugged simply and gave me a half-smile. “You seemed to be handling her quite well.”

I smiled, glancing down again. “Yeah, well, my bite is worse than my bark. So I usually just stay quiet.”

This made him laugh. It was quiet for a moment. I looked to the ground a third time, feeling awkward. I half expected him to walk away but he kind of just stood there.

“You still want that sundae?”

His voice broke my thoughts and my head shot up in surprise. My laughter obviously didn’t translate well because he was looking at me as if I knew a joke that he didn’t quite get. Shaking away the thought, I smiled.

“Hell yeah,” I paused. “Oh, but I still have class.”

“That’s okay,” he smiled, shrugging. “So do I.”

I studied him for a moment as I felt a smile creeping back onto my face. It’s not like it was the first time I had ever skipped class. Only, before then, it would be me hiding out in the bathroom to avoid a test I didn’t study for. There aren’t too many places to sneak off to on a military base. Yoongi began to amble backwards down the hall, his head cocked to the side, waiting for me to follow him. I looked down the hall behind me and then back at him. I shook my head and smiled before walking after him.


	3. Chapter 3

The Bingsu shop wasn’t too far from the school but taking into account the hot weather, we decided to take the bus anyway. As much as I hate the bus, I hate sweating even more. We talked a lot on the way there. Well, I talked. Yoongi mostly just listened. There was an ease I felt around him. Kind of like a human journal. Actually, if it were any more impersonal I might have gotten the impression he wasn't even listening to what I was saying. He gazed out the window, eyes far and mouth slightly ajar as if looking at something way off in the distance. But when I ceased in my speaking his gaze would turn to mine and he'd urge me to continue. When there was a question asked of him, he gave an answer as simple as possible, like the amount of words he had were limited and he was close to running out. This polarity he had -- the ability to make me feel like I was the only person in the world and yet still like I was nothing at all, only intrigued me further. 

I told him about how I was born in America and had moved to Daegu when my dad got stationed there. I told him about my mom and how I visit her in California once a year. He told me how he got into music and wanted to be a producer – that rapping was mainly a hobby, a way of self-therapy. He told me how his parents didn’t approve of his wanting a career in music but his older brother had always been supportive.

“I’ve always wished I had a sibling,” I said, poking at my ice cream. “Being here alone, sometimes it gets lonely." 

Yoongi nodded. “Honestly, I feel more alone in a crowd than I do when I’m by myself.”

I tilted my head slightly , my attention still on the bowl in front of me. It was definitely something I could relate to. Looking and sounding so different than the people around me, it was harder for me to make friends. Never being a very outspoken or social person it was a rare moment when I would hang out with the few friends I did have. My father is stern and stoic from so many years in the military and my mom, when I would see her, worked so often that I had to learn how to be comfortable with alone. 

Music has always been a comfort to me, the lyrics my refuge. So I began to write: poems, lyrics, thoughts -- any and everything I felt or thought or wanted to feel. I relied in it so much I began to prefer it over real interaction. 

“I’m curious." Yoongi's voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked up to see him leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, eyeing me suspiciously.

“What happened with Hyejoo?”

“Who,” I asked, pretending not to know who he was talking about. 

Sensing my sarcasm, Yoongi grinned. His focused stare on me, while not threatening still made me feel a little cornerd. He leaned over onto the table. “You two get in a fight?”

I shook my head. “No. She was bothering me earlier so I just pushed her a little.”

“Whoa…” he trailed off, leaning back once again. “That’s…surprising.”

“Which part?"

“Not that she was picking on you. Hyejoo gets really jealous and insecure when she sees a girl prettier than her.” He paused. “I mean you pushing her. You don’t seem like the aggressive type.”

“I’m really not. Aggressive, I mean. I just have a low tolerance for nonsense.” I waited a second. “Who is she?”

He gave me a curious look before answering. “We used to be friends.” He looked back down. “Things didn’t work out.”

I got the feeling when he said ‘friends’, he wasn’t just talking about a platonic relationship. That would explain her behavior in class, I guess. I looked across the table at Yoongi who at this time had began writing in his notepad.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “What are you always writing?”

Yoongi looked as if I had just interrupted a private meeting, like he wasn’t aware that he had been writing up until that point.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged. “Just some notes…ideas I’m working on.”

“Can I see them?” Yoongi looked hesitant. “It’s nothing concrete. Just little…” He trailed off again.

“I’m not a critic,” I reassured. “I’m a fan, Gloss.”

He smiled at the mention of his stage name. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, his smile faded. “There’s some parts of me I don’t show. I’m sorry.”

Understandable. I really did understand him. I shook my head. “Don’t be.”

I looked down at the empty bowl in front of me and then at my phone for the time. I hadn’t realized before how long we’d been sitting there.

“I should go.” Yoongi looked at me like there was something he wanted to say but held it back. “Thanks for the ice cream. We should do this again.”

I stood up, waiting to see if he’d stand too. He simply nodded and muttered a dry, “Yeah.”

Stopping after putting on my backpack, I looked at him, seriously. “We have a lot more in common than you think.”

Yoongi couldn’t hide the curiosity behind his eyes. I gave him one last smile before walking out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Yoongi sat on the carpeted floor of my bedroom, a notebook in his hand propped up on one knee while I lay on his other outstretched leg, a single earbud in each of our ear. As he wrote, I lay there quietly listening to the music with closed lids. I let the beat overtake me, the melody absorb me. Every so often I'd hear Yoongi whisper a few words, then go quiet again. I rolled over on my side and picked up the silver Zippo lighter he had resting in his black boot. I pulled back the lid, watching the orange and yellow flame flicker in front of me before closing it again. I repeated this a few times before leaving the lid open and just gazed at the burning ember. I watched Yoongi's foot twitch from behind the flame slightly before it went out under his breath. I turned my head sideways to see him looking down at me. His face was calm, void of any emotion or concern. His eyes watched me as I stared back up at him, my expression just as blank.

"Don't play with fire, Hallie," he said, plainly. He kicked his knee up a little causing me to sit upright. "Come look at this."

I shuffled to my knees, pulling myself closer toward him. Looking down at his notepad I saw that instead of writing lyrics like I had previously believed, Yoongi had actually been drawing. The picture itself was unusual in its nature -- a flawed, melancholic figure with abstracted features. The woman's face was half-formed, the visible features smeared as if wiped away by hand. It was hauntingly beautiful. I gently run my hand over the drawing.

"It's beautiful..."

Yoongi looked at me, silently. Though my eyes were still on the picture, I could see him from the corner of my eye. "It's you."

"What?"

My eyes shot up to meet his, a mixture of both curiosity and beguile behind them. Yoongi pointed to the abstracted side of the face.

"This is how people see you. The face is broken because it's what you allow others to see, not who you actually are. You hide yourself because of fear. If you let that fear overtake you, you'll become nothing at all."

He ended with his finger pointed to the smeared part of the face, his own eyes looking deep into mine as if he could see everything. Everything I am, everything I've been, everything I ever would be, he could see it all. I felt a discomfort bordering almost on fear quickly boiling inside of me, urging me to look away...but I couldn't. I was stuck, frozen, hypnotized by this person who held so much power over me without intention. I wanted him to look away. I begged for it.

I don't know how much time actually passed but the next thing I knew Yoongi had moved. He was leaned with his back against the wall, arm over his abdomen with his eyes closed. I made no move to wake him or to see if he was even actually sleeping. I breathed a labored sigh of relief and curled up in that spot on the floor, quickly falling asleep myself. 


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning I awoke with the cover from my bed draped over the top of me. Looking around the room with blurry eyes, I discovered that Yoongi was no longer in the area he had occupied the night before. I called for him in a loud voice to see if he was still in my apartment. When no reply was heard, I concluded that he'd left some time during the night while I was still asleep. I stood and began folding my blanket when I noticed a piece of notebook paper on the ground where Yoongi had fallen asleep. It was his picture. I smiled in spite of myself. Added to the bottom corner was a heart with his signature next to it. More than the picture itself, his description of it was what continued to play over and over again in my head as I walked through the school courtyard.

If I hadn't been so deep in thought, I would have taken a little more heed and changed directions. Alas, I didn't notice Hyejoo and her two henchwomen until they stood in front of me. As usual, my efforts to ignore them were fruitless. The second I took a step to move around her I was pushed back.

"Yangnom!" She exclaimed, angrily. I stumbled backward, trying to keep my footing. She shoved me again, harder than before but still not quite enough to knock me over. "You think you can take Yoongi from me?"

Before I could even open my mouth to speak, I was shoved a third time. This one was strong enough to send me to the ground. This girl was really asking for it. I could no longer restrain myself. I jumped to my feet ready to attack but was suddenly being held back by both arms. This wasn't planned to be a fair fight. I struggled to break free from the other two girl's grips and was soon met with a swift kick to my leg. I grimaced, feeling my leg bend unnaturally. Almost immediately after, I was hoisted back to my feet.

"I've known him for years. I moved here for him." Hyejoo hit me across the face, scratching me in the process. The blood seeping from my cheek did little to deter the girl. Before I had time to even lift my head Hyejoo delivered a punch to my other cheek, forcing my head the opposite direction. Without respite I felt her knee connect with my stomach just seconds before her fist forcefully hit the same place. I felt like all the air in my lungs had been knocked out. I doubled over, coughing violently. My arms were thrown to my side, rather than being dropped. Hyejoo knelt down in front of me, her stare stern and even.

"Stay away from him," she threatened.

"Hyejoo!" One of the girls shrilled, pointing to something across the field.

"Shit," Hyejoo whispered as she began to gather her things. "Kiwon, Yena, let's go."

The two girls obeyed and started inside. After getting one more kick in, Hyejoo followed them. I lay my head on the grass, curling into a ball as I held my stomach in agony.


	6. Chapter 6

A strong hand suddenly landed on my shoulder, causing me to flinch as I tucked into an even tighter ball.

"Hallie..."

My eyes turned upward toward the gentle voice. Yoongi's solemn eyes met with my own. My hand instinctively shot out and tightly grabbed his wrist. My breathing became rougher and I wasn't sure whether I would cry or have a panic attack. Yoongi placed his other hand on top of mine. I closed my eyes and allowed my body to relax.

"You're okay," he affirmed, softly. "I got you."

Yoongi pulled my arms around his shoulders. I groaned painfully, tightening my hold on him as he picked me up from the ground.

"You're a lot heavier than you look," he joked.

I breathed an exasperated sigh, trying to hold back a laugh. "You're a lot stronger than you look."

Yoongi laughed, mockingly. "You know I could just drop you right here."

I smiled, instantly regretting it. The corner of my lips stretched and cracked where it was split open. I let out an involuntary moan. Yoongi glanced down at me. "Don't talk. We're almost there."

About 10 minutes later Yoongi pushed open the door to my apartment, carrying me inside.

"Can you walk?"

I nod and he slowly lowers me to the ground. I place one foot on the floor, still holding on to Yoongi for support. I wince as my bruised stomach muscles stretch out. As soon as I put pressure on my other foot my knee gives out and I start to fall. Yoongi quickly grabs my waist and hoist me back up before I hit the ground. He puts one of my arms back over his shoulder.

"Guess not," he said plainly.

Using him as a crutch, I let Yoongi lead me to the couch. Once I was seated, he stretched his back and made his way to the kitchen. I hear the water running and some more rummaging. I let my head sink into the couch cushion. The next thing I know, Yoongi is sitting beside me holding a small bowl full of...

"What is that," I ask, curiously.

"A eucalyptus paste," he answered, stirring the mixture. "It'll help with the pain. I assume you're not allergic to anything you keep in your own kitchen?"

When I didn't say anything, he stopped stirring and looked at me with expectant, furrowed eyebrows.

"Yeah," I laughed.

Yoongi cocked his head and turned his attention back to his project, trying to hide the smile beginning to form.

"I can never tell with you," he joked. Placing the spoon to the side he handed me a bag of ice. "Put this on your face. It'll help with the swelling. Lean back."

"You're a bit demanding, aren't you?" But I did what he said.

The smirk he had just seconds before was now replaced with a macabre stare once he lifted my shirt and saw my ribs.

"What is it," I asked looking down at my bare midriff. He didn't have to say anything. My side was swollen, highlighted by dark red and purple blotches.

He placed a cold palm across the area, gingerly. "This is gonna hurt a little."

Yoongi then proceeds to press down, slowly yet firm. I gasped and grimaced at the pain in my chest and where he pushing.

"Breath again," he said, his face so serious it could be mistaken for anger. "Slow but deep."

I did, biting my lip so as not to yell out in pain. His features relaxed but didn't exactly soften.

"Okay." He picked the bowl up from the coffee table. "Your ribs are bruised but I don't think anything's broken."

I watched Yoongi as he spread the cool paste over the area. "How do you know so much about this stuff?"

"I got in an accident a while back." He shrugged. "Not much to do in a hospital bed except read."

I stared, silently, at the coffee table while Yoongi left to wash the paste from his hands. Instead of sitting next to me he sat on the couch perpendicular to the one at which I sat. This is how it usually went. We could be having a good conversation just minutes before and then the very next, we're silent. It's like we withdraw from each other. I was frustrated that I wasn't at all frustrated by the silence. He doesn't ever seem to mind it either. He'd leave if he felt uncomfortable. There have been times before when he would just stand up and walk out the door without a word. I never said anything or even mentioned it. Maybe that's where the comfort comes from. Nothing ever needed to be explained when it comes to each other. It's just accepted.

Even with this entente cordiale, Yoongi is an enigma and it's difficult to tell exactly what he's thinking or feeling. Maybe my need to understand him stems from my desire to understand myself. If I don't know my own self, how can I expect anyone else to? I twiddle my thumbs together, my eyes still fixed on the table before me.

"It's because of you." I didn't even recognize that it was my own voice that broke the silence. Yoongi looked at me but didn't say anything. There's only so many ways to describe each emotion, and there are so many. Yoongi always looked to have twenty different emotions on his face at any given time. It was nearly impossible to pick one. Now...now, he looks at me with a mixture of curiosity...or maybe interest? Interest and...doubt? Irritation?

To my complete surprise – his response, though delayed, still came. "I know," he muttered in a plaintive tone. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want any of it to happen."

"Any of this?"

"This," he returned, flicking his hand. Yeah, definitely irritation. "Her. The Fight. You getting hurt. How she's reacting. Me. You period..." He groaned, rubbing his face. "She broke up with _me_ , Hallie." He laced his fingers while resting his elbows on his knees.

"She doesn't want me. She just doesn't want anyone else to. All of this is because she thinks I like you."

I don't know why that struck a chord. My face scrunched slightly, like I was tasting something bitter.

"I was an asshole." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. "But I never thought she'd do something like this. She's not that type of girl...she wasn't. You could've really gotten hurt. What if something happened to you?"

He was rambling. I could tell how worked up he was getting. It was the first time I'd seen him behave this way. Besides myself, he was the only person I knew to get like this. When there are too many emotions inside you and you don't know how to deal with any of them, they all kind of just misfire. Before even thinking about what I was doing, I stood and went over to him, squatting in front of him.

"I'm okay," I assured him. It wasn't enough. His leg shook, rapidly. He was frantically rubbing his hands together. It didn't even look like he knew I was in front of him. I grabbed both of his wrists, gripping them tight.

"Yoongi!" It was a yell, something I rarely did. My mind flashed back to just barely an hour ago, when he was leaning over me and I made the same motion. And just as before, he didn't flinch at my touch the way I did his. I quieted my voice, looking him in the eye. "You're okay. I'm okay. You are okay."

His face softened and his eyes grew big. "Hallie.."

He spoke just above a whisper. I loosened my grip around his wrists, slowly letting them go. His gaze never left mine. There was something there. Something that wasn't there before. Something deep inside. That something he hides. His breathing was deep but began to slow. And then, faster than I could react, he was holding me, holding my face. One hand on the side of my neck, his long fingers wrapped around the back. The other was on my swollen cheek, my ear between his ring and middle fingers. His pinky gently caressed my lips. It was then that I realized his hands were trembling. Everything had gone deathly quiet. No traffic, no barking dogs, not even the sound of us breathing. I stared intently into his eyes, trying to describe just what it was I was seeing. Just the thought brought an uneasy feeling like that of fear, as his hands tightened. His eyes moved from my lips to my eyes and back again.

Unconsciously, we had moved closer together, his face mere inches from my own. A soft whisper escaped my mouth, "Yoongi...".

And like a hypnotized patient being brought back to consciousness, Yoongi jumped up from his seat so fast, I could have fallen over. I looked at him stunned. He began to stutter incoherently, frantically picking up his backpack, accidentally knocking things over in the process.

"Shit."

He threw the bag over his shoulder, quickly making his way toward the door.

"Are you sure you're ok?" I asked. I was in too much shock to respond any other way. His nervousness only fueled mine.

"Uh, y-yeah, I just..." He backed into the wall separating the kitchen from the living area, knocking over my glass vase, filled with beads, to the floor. "I'm sorry, Hallie. I just...I have to go."

He fumbled with the doorknob, almost yanking the door off the hinges, before rushing out. I stood there, completely dumbfounded, staring out the open door. I limped over to shut and lock it before sliding down to the floor.

What just happened?


	7. Chapter 7

A week. It had been a whole week since I last saw Yoongi. He didn’t call. He didn’t text. He wouldn’t even answer the calls or messages I sent to him. He had missed that entire week of school. Even after seven straight days, that afternoon of the previous Friday stuck with me. I would be lying if I said I was looking forward to seeing him. He left me that night feeling insecure, confused, and worst of all, he left me feeling anxious. 

I tried not to think about it, but the more I ignored it, the more frustrated I became. It never mattered before. I’d always been more of a loner, only keeping one or two close friends. Since moving to Seoul Yoongi was the only person I felt I clicked well with. ‘This is what happens when you put all your reliance on one person’, I thought. One would think I would have learned by now.

By mid-week, my annoyance had fallen by the wayside, turning into concern. Nobody had seen or heard anything from or about Yoongi. He had seemingly fallen off the face of the Earth. Not even his best friend Jinwoon had seen him. Me and Jinwoon had started hanging out more often for no other reason than we both missed our friend. Only, unlike myself, Jinwoon didn’t seem bothered.  
  
“Yoongi does this a lot,” he mentioned, while at lunch. “When he becomes overwhelmed with things he'll just up and disappear. Sometimes for a few days, sometimes longer.”

“Where does he go?”

Jinwoon shrugged. “Now, that I do not know.”

I let out a long breath, blowing my bang out from in front of my face. I took out my notebook and began writing. I can't understand why I’m suddenly feeling so scorned by Yoongi but I am. Would it kill him to let me know he’s alive? Maybe I just read too much into it. Maybe there was nothing. Maybe he didn’t even exist and I just made up an imaginary friend to cope with my new life. 

Jinwoon smirked. “You’re becoming more like him every day.” He nodded at my notebook. “He’s always writing in those things.”

“No,” I shook my head. “This is for class. Creative writing assignment due tomorrow.”

“Ooh,” he said scrunching up his nose. “I’ll leave you to it then, Miss Walker.” 

I barely nod my farewell and continue to write. Jinwoon tossed his apple in the air, catching it as he stood. 

“Hey,” he said before walking away. I looked up at him. His face becoming more sympathetic. “Don’t worry about Yoongi. No matter what life throws at him, he always makes it out okay.”

For Jinwoon's sake I fake a thankful smile. Of course Yoongi would be okay -- he always is. It wasn't necessarily Yoongi I was worried about. As selfish as it is, I was more worried about how I would get along without him rather than how he could get on without me.

I muttered a defeated, “Fuck it.” 

The rest of the day goes by as expected. I pass Hyejoo on my way out the school building. She only smirks at me with a cocked eyebrow. Since Yoongi’s been gone I guess she no longer sees me as her competition. If only she knew I never was. For a breif moment I wonder if she could possibly know something I don't. He was visibly upset thinking about her a week ago. Maybe his talk with me made him realize she was what he wanted after all. 

I could feel my mood growing increasingly sour as I walked home. An ominous feeling was cast over me and as soon as I got there I laid in my bed. I took out my notebook and stared at the poem I had already written. It was generic. No feeling, not really any tone. 

When I would get into these moods back home my father would encourage me to write. “Don’t think”, he would say. “Just write.” 

And so I did. I wrote about a girl who dreamed of windows black tinted like a hearse. I wrote about a boy who feels more at home the further away he gets from it. I write about this boy and girl meeting, only she can’t see him behind the window. His image is too dark. She sees only her own reflection. From inside the car, the boy is able to see her as a blurred image. If only he were to open the window he could see her image more clearly and she would be able to see him. But when the image was no longer cast in a shadow, would he be willing to stay around for her to see him? Would she stay once she discovered the boy behind the darkness? 

It’s a risk he’s not willing to take, and this keeps him hidden. Perhaps, if she were to get closer, she would be able to see him. They are similar, these two, with the same problem -- the same insecurities, the same weaknesses. If they let each other in maybe, just maybe, the night wouldn't seem so black. But her unwillingness to get too close and his inability to let her in is what keeps them both in the dark. 


	8. Chapter 8

I open my eyes and just stare at the wall beside my bed, making no move to actually get out of it. The wispy, fading images of a dream from the night before played before my eyes. It took a moment for me to realize it was just that, a dream, and that realization only strengthened the resistance I had to moving. Still, I somehow stagger out of bed with what must be borrowed will because I have none of my own. It would be amazing to just stay in bed for the day and let the comforting softness of my pillow take me back to a world where everything was how I wanted it to be, how it should be. 

In this dream there were two people, though I couldn't see their faces. Whether that's because they were distorted or non-existent, I don't know.   
They are high, so high up in the sky that the clouds are below their feet. As the ground begins to crumble and she falls off the side, he grabs her. She's clenching on to her life in his grip. She tries to let go to save him. She wants to fall alone to save him but he wont let her. He wants to save her but she wont let him, not if it means he has to fall in her place. In the end they both tumble toward the Earth together but someone or something grabs him and pulls him back up, leaving her to fall to her end by herself.

I don't know what it means, if there's any meaning to it at all, but it leaves me with a feeling of melancholy. I feel like I'm on autopilot as there is no sense of urgency as I go through the motions of my morning routine lackadaisically. Even with the emptiness of the school hallways hinting at my tardiness, my pace still does not quicken.

I slam the door to the classroom louder than I had thought possible, alerting everyone to my arrival. I give an apologetic bow and manage a sheepish “Sorry”.

Before I can get past the teacher’s desk, I hear him say my name.

“We were just discussing our poetry assignments. Hallie-haksaeng, since you seem so well prepared, how about you go first.”

Half of me wanted to politely decline, while the other half wanted to run out of class altogether. Seeing how neither were an option, I reluctantly walk to the center front of the classroom. I remove my notebook from my book bag, dropping it immediately after as my eyes steady on Yoongi’s seat, which surprisingly has Yoongi in it. Surprise being the understatement of the century. My shock is quickly replaced with disappointment when he won’t even look at me. His appearance was bad. He looked sick, paler than usual, and exhausted. 

Instead of looking at me like the rest of the class, he let his eyes drift to the floor. I retained my composure the best I could, standing back to my feet. I hadn't prepared to read this in front of Yoongi, being that it was heavily influenced if not entirely about him. I suddenly felt self-conscience once again, but I fed off his indifference. Taking a deep breath, I begin.

“She chose to walk alone  
Though others wondered why  
Refused to look before her  
Kept her eyes cast upwards, towards the sky  
She didn't have companions  
No need for earthly things  
She only wanted freedom  
From what she felt were puppet strings  
She longed to be a bird  
That she might fly away  
She pitied every blade of grass  
For planted they would stay  
Some say she wished too hard  
Some say she wished too long  
But they awoke one autumn day  
To find that she was gone"

The class was silent. The teacher was the first to speak. 

“Wow, Hallie-haksaeng, very moving. Very well done.”

The rest of the class began to applaud as well. All except for Yoongi. He stared, face blank and lips slightly ajar, the same look he’d given me the week before. I could feel his gaze follow me as I made my way to my seat. Though his expression wasn't necessarily a negative one, it was mildly intimidating. I glanced over at him, thinking it would make him avert his gaze but I was the one who ended up looking away. 

What was it? He looked at me as if I were a stranger to him, like it was the first time he was really seeing me. There was a sadness behind his stare that tugged at my chest, causing me to look away and avoid looking at him the remainder of class. I couldn't concentrate on the works from the other students. My focus was solely on Yoongi and his was on me. We were the only two in that room, in the school, in the whole country. 

I jumped slightly, startled as the bell rang, dismissing class. Before I had time to turn my head to look at him, Yoongi was already gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Poem "And She Was Gone" from the 2000 Nickelodeon show "As Told By Ginger". Credits to the author*


	9. Chapter 9

I didn't see Yoongi for the rest of the school day after that. I didn't run after him when he left class. Actually, I stayed sitting in my seat a little longer than necessary. I didn't want to see or talk to him any more than he did me. His indifference only exacerbated my own. I felt our friendship, or whatever we had shared up to that point, begin to crumble. Under any other circumstance, I think I would feel a lot different. But my heart had been hardened, or so I convinced myself. I'm not in the business of keeping those who don't want to be kept.

Still, I took the long way home. The weather was nice, not too hot or too cold -- and the music that played from my earbuds gave me a sense of serenity. When I did reach my apartment I went straight to the balcony. I sat with my legs swinging beneath me as I looked across the darkening city. I felt a smile creeping its way onto my face. Despite how the previous days and week had played out regarding Yoongi and my overall sour mood, in this moment everything felt...okay.

Just then I heard a knock on the door. It wasn't an ordinary knock, but a frantic, almost panicked constant knocking that shook me out of my thoughts. It was so sudden and loud it took me a minute or two to properly react. I stood and walked cautiously towards the door, not being able to think of anyone who would be visiting me. 

As I eased the door open, there slowly panning into view was Yoongi, looking completely disheveled and heavily panting, out of breath. I looked at him with a suspicious yet incredulous expression, taken aback by his sudden appearance. “Yoo—" 

Before I could even get his name out my mouth, Yoongi had already pushed past the door, taking my face gently in his hands. Without hesitation, he crashed into me with such impetus it made me stagger backward. He looked into my eyes only for a second before kissing me again with brunt ardor. Though my eyes widened, my vision was blurred. Even if I had wanted to, I was incapable of protest. 

My arms wrapped tightly around his neck as I kissed him with equal fervor. I felt myself being lifted off the ground. I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me to the bedroom, our lips never parting. He lay me carefully on the bed, climbing on top of me as if his body were velcro’d to mine. Our kissing did not decrease in passion as he lowered his trousers and sequentially my underwear under my skirt. I moaned inwardly as he entered me, the tips of my fingers digging into his back. 

The conglomeration of our moans and groans of ecstasy shrouded any other sound. My hand traveled up from his back to his hair, clutching it in my grasp as he went deeper, accelerating in pace. The room spun as if we were in a whirlwind, our toes curling. He looked at me and I looked at him, mouth open as I gasped under his movement. Neither of us able to turn away. His fingers laced with mine, pushing deeper into the mattress. Moving together, we fit like puzzle pieces in an erotic portrait. 

His body hovered over mine and with the palm of his hand he grazed my skin. The gentleness of his touch contradicted the vigorousness of his thrust. I was drunk, intoxicated by him. Every nerve in my body was shot and he was the trigger. My fingers curled tightly around his hand as he gave one final groan before collapsing on top of me. All that was left was our labored breathing. I gently caressed his hair as he lay on top of me, his head resting in the crook of my neck. 


	10. Chapter 10

As I lay quivering underneath him, Yoongi tiredly lifts his head, still trying to regulate his breathing. He caresses my cheek softly, his thumb gliding over my lips. He breathes a small smile, causing me to smile in return. He brings his lips together with mine once more before rolling over onto the mattress. He pulls me closer to him and I lay my head on his chest, listening as his heart beats rapidly. 

“Are you okay,” I ask, placing a hand on his chest.  
  
“Mmhm,” he hums, covering my hand with his.  
  
We lay like this for a long time, neither of us saying anything. Though one may think this would bring an air of awkwardness, for me and Yoongi, there was none. The quiet spinning of the fan, Yoongi's hushed breathing, the sound of the wind blowing softly against my window, all played like a lullaby quickly easing me to sleep. 

“I was afraid of you, Hallie." 

Yoongi's voice broke through the silence. I feel my eyes open slowly, not realizing until that point that they had previously been closed. Yoongi's fingers tighten around my hand, his voice low and broken, sounding almost sad had it not been for the slight twinge of revelation; as if his words were still thoughts not yet spoken. 

I lift my head from his chest, looking up at him with an expression that can only be described as stunted. There's a feeling of anchorage -- a feeling of desperately wanting to hold on to a moment that passes by all the more quickly because of that very desire. Being unable to mutter even a hint of understanding, I say nothing. I simply continue to look at him, my features contorted in confusion; not knowing where the conversation was heading but dreading it just the same.

Yoongi doesn't return my gaze. His eyes remain fixed on the ceiling above us. Though his eyes refuse to meet mine, his thumb unconsciously strokes the back of my hand as he continues to speak. 

"You make me feel things...think things I never have before. I look at things differently when I'm with you. I see things in you I've only ever seen in myself. More than this, though, you make me not feel alone." 

He pauses and hesitates to continue. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. This is the first time Yoongi has ever spoken to me this way, the first time I've gotten a glimpse into who he is. He bites his bottom lip, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. I only hold his hand tighter. 

“I’m not use to relying on someone or having someone rely on me...”

"Yoongi..." I slowly push myself against the mattress, coming to an upright position, resting my weight on my elbow and forearm. I contemplate the meaning behind his words, how he feels; how I feel. I'm either not sure of my own feelings or unaware of them all together. How could I even attempt to decipher his? 

I’ve always been uncomfortable around people, generally speaking only when spoken to. To describe my feelings to another person was more of an embarrassment to me than pretending I just didn’t care. Somewhere along the road I lost myself to the extent that I no longer knew who I was. I became closed off from everyone, even those I had known a long time. 

Being alone never bothered me before. After meeting Yoongi, alone didn’t feel lonely anymore because he was always there. Even when nothing was being said, having him around was enough. I could say one thing and he would understand the meaning behind it without me ever having to go into detail. He never pushed a subject or demanded an answer about anything. His, what I took as indifference, made him easier to be around. My seemingly apathetic nature made it easier for him to be around me. There was no judgement and we never felt any. Our broken pieces fit together perfectly. 

“Yoongi, you don’t owe me anything.” 

I'm surprised by my words and the bite behind them. Judging by Yoongi's reaction, so is he. He looks at me with an expression matching my own.   
He lifts into a seated position while simultaneously pulling up his jeans to cover himself. 

“That’s not what I mean, Hallie.” He sighs, growing frustrated with himself for not being able to correctly express what it is he wants to say; and maybe at me for not understanding. But I did. Didn't I? “Just listen.” 

His voice was so abrupt in its harshness it caught me off guard. “I care about you, Hallie. You’re important to me; more important than any girl’s been...than anyone's been. But…” Yoongi paused. He was visibly upset. I could practically see the hesitation on his face, as though thinking whether or not he really agreed with what he was saying. 

“This shouldn’t have happened," he uttered. "I lost control and…things got outta hand. We went too far.”

This was...unexpected. No matter how many different ways he said it, the result was the same. I can't look at him, although I can feel him looking at me. I keep my eyes on my fidgeting fingers. Yoongi is a door that will always be locked from the inside -- an unfinished room that will always remain unknown to me because neither of us has a key. I don't have one to enter the room and he doesn't have one to unlock it.

As if sensing the emotions that I, myself, had yet to figure out, Yoongi took both of my hands in his. “Understand, Hallie, I’m not saying this doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m saying that it can’t.”

I nod, feigning understanding that I clearly do not possess. I can't tell if it's the trembling of my hands causing his to do the same, or if his hand is trembling on its own. I look at him evenly. I can’t be mad. I'm not mad. I guess I should be feeling some type of way but I don't. Or at least this is what I convince myself. I can convince myself of anything -- better than anyone else. 


	11. Chapter 11

When the smoke clears, it's always easier to see clearly and the longer I sit, taking in everything Yoongi had to say the more I begin to truly understand his meaning. Stuff like this ruins things. Relationships ruin things. Relying on someone, ruins you. Having someone rely on you, ruins them. We had let our feelings overshadow our better judgment. 

I finally look back at Yoongi, a content smile on my lips. "Like I said, you don't owe me anything."

Yoongi is too important to me to risk losing. And he thought the same. There's an understanding we have of each other that's rare for any two people, let alone people like us. It goes deeper than any other emotion, which is why we could never describe it. There isn’t a word for it. It's a feeling. 

Yoongi studies me for a moment, skeptical of my genuity. He looks me square in the eyes, seeking a hint of any deceit, any hard feelings, any regret. When he sees that there is none, he smiles.

“I wanna show you something,” he says suddenly.

“What, now?”

“Yeah, come on.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me off the bed.

I follow Yoongi, for what seems like an hour of walking, in almost total silence. He walks a foot or two ahead of me, turning around only to assist through difficult terrain. The more we walk, the further away we get from any sign of civilization. We follow an old road uphill until it turns into dirt and gravel. Broken steel beams and un-finished railroad tracks lead us to an old and abandoned train station. 

“Careful,” Yoongi warned. “Watch your step.”

I cautiously walk through the dirt and rubble. I marvel at the broken glass above us, sunbeams peering into the station through holes in the shattered glass. When we come to the train yard, Yoongi climbs atop one of the dilapidated vessels. With an outstretched arm, he helps me pull myself up to him. He sits on the edge of the cart, feet dangling over the side. I stand behind him, observing the area. I stare at the decayed walls and broken wood, looking up to see an overcast sky. 

“What is this,” I ask. 

Ignoring my question, Yoongi waves me over, “Come here.”

Keeping my eyes on him, I walk slowly to the edge and take a seat. I gaze, mesmerized, at the scene before me. Through the wood siding you could see nothing but dying grass and a small, drying river; but there's something hauntingly charming about it all. 

“This is where I come when I wanna get away from everything, disappear for a while. No one knows about this place.” He scans the scenery before turning his head to look at me. “Except you.”

I only look at him without saying a word. Yoongi pulls a notebook from under a ragged blanket laying behind us and holds it out toward me. I look at the book, then back at him. Then back at the book and then back up at him. Gingerly, I took it, sliding it from his hands into mine. As I read, my expression changes from discomfiture to that of bewilderment. 

“This is good, Yoongi.”

He gives me a sort of forced, half laugh and turns his head. “You don’t have to say that.”

I shake my head while flipping through the pages. I stop at one in particular.   
“No, Yoongi. This is really good.” 

I continue reading the page that stood out from the others. The others were full of incomplete thoughts and phrases but this one was a full piece. It wasn’t just the rhyme scheme. The whole poem was inundative and soft, but what caught me the most were the words themselves. What he was saying.

“It’s aesthetic, charming…profound, even. The way you’re able to put your feelings onto paper is remarkable; but to express it in such words and so smoothly is purely…beautiful.”

It really was. I always assumed Yoongi was like me. That he refused to express himself through speech because he couldn't, not because he simply didn't want to. It's not density that limits me, but more my brain works faster than my mouth. Whenever I attempt to say what I'm thinking, my words often come across delayed, even stuttered. Even when I write, it's a mess of jumbled thought that, until I met Yoongi, only I could understand. Yoongi was able to get his thoughts and feelings across in a way that made other people understand. It was a side of him that I had not yet known and, quite frankly, it intimidated me. 

He looks at me, speechless. An embarrassed smile spread across his face. “Thanks. I was thinking…maybe…” He becomes tense. “There’s this audition.”

I raise a brow in question, waiting for him to continue. 

“And," I encourage. "You’re doing it, right?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Yoongi shrugs. “You think I should?”

I stifle a chuckle. “Well, duh! This could be really good for you. Get your music out there.” 

My smile fades when I look at Yoongi and see his expression. It's a look I haven't seen from him. He looks apprehensive, doubtful, and if I didn't know any better I would say, scared. I breath out through my nose, biting my bottom lip. I reach over and take one of Yoongi's hands, which he's been rubbing together nervously. 

“Yoongi, you have a real shot here. You have something rare. People feel things through your music. They listen to you and you have something to say. So, go tell them.”

Yoongi silently stared at the ground as I spoke. His fingers tightened softly around my hand, a small smile slowly forming. He lifts his head, and gives me a smile. “How is it you always know just what to say?”

I smile back, playfully slapping the notebook against his chest. “One of my few talents.”


	12. Chapter 12

I thought things would be awkward for us after that. Our being intimate, his disappearance, he was two poles on opposite sides of the Earth. Each day, I never knew what it was I would get from him. Whether he could ever really love me was a thought that plagued my mind often no matter how many times I tried to relieve myself of them. I can't truthfully say if love's what I want from Yoongi. Everything you read about love being, doesn't pertain to the two of us. It was inconsistent, impatient, selfish and then a complete contradiction of that the following day. 

In some ways, a lot of ways, things were better. Yoongi was a lot more loose around me, more relaxed. He talked and smiled more. But then, there were days when I could barely get him to look at me. Just last week, when he came over, he did just that. He pulled me into his arms and held me tight but it was like I wasn't even there. He feigned sleep, though his grip never loosened. Yes, Yoongi was acting weird, different even.

A month after the night at the train yard Yoongi became a lot busier. He wasn’t around often. He was either working or practicing. I did the best I could to support him and keep him leveled but there was little I could do to console him during these moments. He stopped coming around. He was always busy. He wouldn’t tell me with what, and at school he pretended nothing was bothering him. But I knew better. 

It was late one evening. I sat on the balcony outside of my apartment smoking a cigarette. Like the train yard for him, the balcony was my place of solace. At night everything was so still and quiet. Surrounded by darkness, I felt comfort in the knowledge that the stars were the only thing awake. 

I heard the front door open. It’d become a habit for me to keep it unlocked around this time in case Yoongi happened to stop by, though it had been a couple weeks since he’d done so. Still, I wasn’t surprised when he sat silently next to me. The night was warm, but there was a cold air around him. I glanced over at him, flicking the cigarette’s ashes off the ledge. He looked exhausted but I hid my concern.

“You’ve been away a while,” a said flatly. It wasn’t an accusation, or even a question of where. More like a stated fact. 

He answered just as directly. “Work. I barely have time to sleep.”

“You know if you work too hard, you’ll burn out.” Another simple statement. 

If anyone had been around to hear us, they would find the entire tone of our conversation monotonous. 

“I’m ok.” He ran his hand, tiredly over his face and through his hair.

“You always are.” I took another puff from my cigarette, pretending not to notice the look he was directing toward me. “Take a break. Or at least try to relax some.”

“That’s kinda why I’m here. I wanna get your opinion on something.”

“Yes, I think you’re moving too fast. Slow down.”

Yoongi chuckled. “I can’t stop now. I’m just getting started.” I furrowed my brows in confusion as looked to him. A small, sheepish smile spread across his lips. “The company, they wanna make a group.”

My confusion persisted. “Group? I thought you were producing?”

Yoongi nodded, his smile growing. “I wanted to. But they think I should rap.”

I playfully nudged him in the arm, smiling. “So you’re gonna be an idol now?” 

It sounded even more unbelievable when spoken. An idol? Not Yoongi, not my Gloss. He quickly shook his head, putting my excitement on hold. 

“Not like an idol. We’re all rappers. We don’t sing, not really. And we definitely don’t dance, so stop smiling like that.”

“I’m sorry.” I laughed. “You think you can do this?”

He looked at me, challengingly. “You think I can’t?”

“I know you can,” I said straight, as my own smile became more pronounced. “This is really great Yoongi. Aren’t you excited?”

“It’s not a sure thing yet, but…” His smile brightened, and then almost as quickly darkened into what wasn’t far from a frown. “If I take this, that means…”

“You’ll go away,” I said, slowly, finishing his sentence for him. I looked out over the balcony. This was something that, for some reason, hadn’t occurred to me up until that very moment. Being an artist was a heavy job. It was hard work. Add being an idol on top of that; everyone constantly watching you, waiting for you to make a mistake. He would be expected to be perfect. How would that kind of pressure affect him? How would being without him affect me? 

Yoongi was my relief, my comfort. He took me out of myself, out of my head. I had made the huge mistake of relying on him and now, what I always feared was quickly becoming more than just a possibility. As if feeling my discomfort as his own, Yoongi spoke to me reassuringly. 

“Hallie, if you don’t want me to, I wont go.”

I could feel a hard lump forming in my chest as my eyes started to burn. I tried to take a puff off the already dying cigarette, turning away from him.  
I shook my head. “I can’t do that. It’s important to you.”

Yoongi took the cigarette from between my fingers and threw it over the balcony. “You’re more important.”

Even if I wanted Yoongi to give up his dream and refuse the offer, I would never say so. Not to him. Not to anybody. Yoongi had worked toward this for years; before I ever even knew him. To even suggest such a thing would in turn make me feel worse than his absence ever could. 

“So are you.” I tightly closed my eyes to get rid of the burning sensation and any stray tears that might have snuck out, before making eye contact again. “So, you gotta take this, Yoongi. It’s what you were made for.”

Yoongi looked at me half surprised, half confused. “You’re serious? You want me to go?”

“I want you to be happy. And I know nothing makes you happier than making music.”

Yoongi looked forward, back over the view before us. He smiled what was the most genuine smile I'd ever seen from him. 

Though the sky still appeared clear, there were no longer any stars. They were gone. It was quiet, once again. 

Yoongi’s voice broke through my thoughts. “What’s the matter? What are you feeling?”

My gaze lingered on the night sky, longingly. I didn't think it possible for the night sky to be any darker than the deep blue it was just moments before but it seemed the longer I stared, the darker it became. Yoongi's voice caught me off guard but I held my tremble. I shake my head, slowly, shrugging a bit in resignation. I found it a weird question, especially coming from him. 

“I don’t know,” I answered, honestly.

“Nothing?”

Something in his voice caused me to look at him? His response wasn't sarcastic or biting but as though he wasn't wanting my answer, like he already knew it. However, Yoongi's focus was not on me but on the sky, just like mine had been seconds before. 

“I’m just thinking about when someone would ask me. I didn’t know what I felt, so I would just say ‘I don’t know’.” He sighed, turning his gaze to me. “I didn’t know I felt nothing.”

I studied his expression for a moment before looking down at the ground. He always could read me better than I could myself. I don't answer, though. I'm not quite sure what to say, what to feel, if there was anything to feel at all. I felt so many different feelings that they all canceled each other out, until I felt...nothing. 

When I came to, I realized Yoongi's hand was on top of mine, his eyes already looking into mine before I even had the chance to turn my head .

“I’m not abandoning you, Hallie." Though I unsuccessfully tried to hide this fear from him, Yoongi, saw right through to the truth. My attempt to avoid eye contact by lowering my head was only countered by him lifting my chin until I was forced to lock eyes. "I’m still gonna be here for you.”

That was the last time I saw him. 


	13. Chapter 13

The clock on the wall ticks louder than usual. Each second the hand moves, bringing with it a monotonous tune like that of the world's slowest metronome. The ticking gets louder and then stops suddenly as the melodic rhythm of sonorous footsteps take it's place. _You can't hear the soldiers marching from three years away_ , I tell myself. But my desire to ignore it only makes the footsteps louder and more pronounced. A closing car door, a woman sneezing, and the incessant buzzing of the computer in my father's home office; each sound growing in its intensity until I become so dizzy I feel I might just collapse right there. 

"Hallie!"

I snap back into consciousness, my attention now focused on my father. He stands before me, clearly exasperated at my lack of rapt. In that moment I had let myself get distracted to the point I heard his voice but could make no distinction between words. Everything he said became a muffled vibration, like blowing into a microphone or reemerging from a pool with water-filled ears. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You're living in a vacuum. You hardly eat, you don’t sleep. Is there anything you’d like to talk about, like what’s been bothering you?”

I stand there, staring at him wide-eyed as I slowly shake my head. Even when expressing concern, my father is as stoic as ever. To be honest, it wasn't until he spoke these words that I even realized there was a change in my behavior. I wasn't sad. Not really. I didn't eat because I didn't have an appetite. I didn't sleep because I wasn't tired. As far as my mood, I was just...there. Nothing held much meaning, but nothing was particularly wrong.  
  
By the time summer came I was more than ready to return to Daegu with my father, but his concern had become somewhat overbearing. So, when he suggested I return to the States early this year, instead of waiting until Christmas as usual, I gave no protest. Maybe a change in scenery was what I needed. 

As the plane starts slowly down the apron, I feel the temporary relief from before subside. I feel as though there's a cinder block on my chest. A nagging apprehension accosts me and my breathing is staggered. Flying has never troubled me before, but this time there's a feeling that I might get sick; like I'm leaving something behind. Something, or maybe someone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter and not writing as often. Life is kicking my butt right now :(  
> Thank you as always for reading ^_^


	14. Chapter 14

You often hear people say when one door closes another opens. For me, there were no doors, only windows. And when a window closes what you are left with is a transparent barrier, allowing you to see all that is there without the ability to take hold of it. It's reflection lacks the opacity of the looking glass which shows you a backwards image of yourself and everything around you. Instead, you are forced to see through the deception, into who you truly are. 

On this sunny day rainbow-colored diamonds scintillate through the window of my mother's Escalade, the bright glare blinding half of my face from view. I watch as the trees pass by in a quick blur. Perhaps moving just as quickly is my mother's phone conversation, talking business as usual. As we pull off the highway and get closer to the home I knew, everything looks the same. The same roads, same shops, the same cars in the same driveways, the same neighborhood. 

The urgency I feel to get to my room just to lay down is instantly thwarted upon walking through the front door, revealing a group of people waiting, to my surprise, for my return. 

Most I recognize from elementary school, as well as a few acquaintances I'd made from previous summers. I'm greeted by the warm smile of Lea, the closest thing I have to a friend here. Standing next to her is a tall, smiling boy whose incessant stare makes me uncomfortable. 

“Hallie, you remember Tyler.” It wasn’t a question. I nod, absently. “We’re glad you’re back, girl. You gotta come hang with us. Make up for lost time.”

Lea was someone who, when I found myself around her, made my head spin faster than a turbo jet. Who she was, the person she portrayed herself to be, was completely dependent on who she was around. She could be anyone, everyone, or no one...or even some combination of the three. As often as I wanted to walk away, I had proved to be one of the few who could tolerate her. 

And Tyler...we weren't friends. At first glance, he was someone you would summon when needing to dispose of a dead body but upon further inspection he was much more than that; a derelict with connections to everything foul. He got by on his good looks -- big eyes, soft curly hair, like one of those farm boys and could sweet talk a bear into giving away her cub. I didn't like him and the way he pulls Lea away, I know the feeling's mutual. 

“Come on, Lea. She’s gotta be tired,” he says. “Hit us up whenever you feel up to it.”

Fat chance. I sneak away up the stairs, leaving the rest of the guests behind me. Despite being gone for a year, my bedroom is exactly how I remembered it; carpet the color of a stormy sky meeting with walls of pearl. 

My bed that had always been a generous size for someone of my weight and stature sits against a plush headboard the same color as the floor, and decorated in clear "jewels". Two end tables sit on either side of my bed and two mirror cover closets filled with clothes I've had since middle school along with new ones my mother had bought for my return. 

I lay back on my bed, eyes toward the ceiling, as I wait for the comforts of home to make their way back to me. 

I hold my phone in my hand, not at all attentive to what it is I'm scrolling through. I absentmindedly search the section of new music, desperately trying to take my mind off of all that occupied it in that moment. Music has always been my escape, the place I go to force my mind into nothingness; until the moment when that nothingness molded itself into everything.

'ROOKIE HIP HOP IDOL GROUP BTS TO DEBUT AT MELON SHOWCASE'

I read the heading again and again, almost refusing to look at the picture and video that accompany it. Seven boys stand side by side in a straight line dressed from head to toe in baggy black and gold attire. Though my first thought is that my eyes are playing a trick, as the video plays I am met with the realization that what I'm seeing is actually there. The close-up confirms it. Right there on my screen, on a stage that I had seen other's perform on plenty of times before, was Min Yoongi. 


	15. Chapter 15

_'I’m not abandoning you, Hallie’_ , Yoongi's voice replayed that one phrase over and over in my head. But he has. He's gone, and though I'd like to convince myself otherwise, the void between me and him brought with it a pain unrecognizable and incomparable to anything I've felt until now. 

I become increasingly frustrated with myself for the guilt that rises within me. I should be happy, at least happy for him. But there was never any doubt from my end that this moment would come. I guess I just thought...maybe, I wouldn't be where I am when it finally did. 

Months passed and still no word from Yoongi. I had given up trying to contact him myself. In fact, I've made no attempt to contact anyone and rarely leave the house. My mother's worried. Says it's not normal for someone my age to be sitting at home all the time. She just doesn't understand. I don't understand. It's not so much that I want to forget; more like I don't want to remember. Don't want to remember that I was happy once. Don't want to remember that my happiness depended on another person.

I feel old desires well up inside me. I long for the numbness that comes with a drink or a shot, a huff or a line. Things I've sworn off of, a past that not even Yoongi is aware of but had a huge hand in preventing. 

I feel my phone vibrate in my hand, as a name pops up on the screen: Lea. I think about ignoring it. I want to ignore it but somehow I find myself automatically answering before the thought to do so even came to me. 

“Hallie!” Lea's voice was quick and excited. There were voices in the background along with music so loud I could hardly hear what she was saying. “Hallie, get up! Come over!”

“What's going on,” I ask, half interested.

“I'm having a party," she laughs.

I groan. "I don't really feel like it."

Lea talks to someone in the background, relaying my reply. 

"I know," she yells to them. "Hallie, you've been back for months. You can't stay in that room forever."

 _'Why not'_ , I think sarcastically. Just the thought of being around a bunch of screaming people was enough to make my skin crawl. I'm not much of a social person, always being the type to prefer solitude over interaction. I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm antisocial exactly. I'm simply attracted to the peace isolation offers. 

"I told you she wouldn't come," Lea says defeated.

Suddenly her voice is replaced by one that is deeper. It's Tyler.

"Come on, Hallie," he prods. "Take your mind off whatever's been bothering you and come have a drink. I'll come get you and if you don't like it, I'll take you back."

My suspicions rise. Tyler rarely speaks to me, if at all and now he was trying to convince me to hang out? My mind is in a game of tug-of-war. Tyler is probably one of the last people I want to be around but my desperate want and necessity to forget outweigh my sense. I need to get out of this room, out of this house, out of my brain. 

I blow out a resigned breath. "Fine. Give me an hour."

I can practically hear in smirk in Tyler's voice. "Alright. See you soon." 

Without saying anything else, I hang up the phone. I remain in that spot on my bed for what seems like forever, hesitating; feeling like it would be better for me to just fall asleep right here and forget the whole thing. But my shoulder devil is telling me to return to the mindset of indifference.   
Yoongi, for a long time was my strength. Now that he's gone and continuing with his own life, it's about time I do the same. 

I stand in front of the closet, impassively searching the rows of clothes for something suitable yet comfortable to wear. Finally I land on a pair of high-waisted, distressed jeans and a black tube top. I had hoped my mom would have returned before I left; the added distraction would have been nice, but when I receive the ‘on my way’ text from Tyler, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I write my mom a quick note telling her where I’ll be and head out the door.

The night is unexpectedly cool for Los Angeles and I regret not bringing a jacket. When I see Tyler's car turn the corner, my anxiety begins to rise. An electric wave travels up my spine and around to my chest causing my heart to beat faster and harder to the point it's almost painful; the panic of a surrounded soldier who knows he has nowhere to go. I see myself running back into the house and slamming the door behind me, back to the comforting seclusion within the four walls of my bedroom. Though I see it, I feel my feet carrying me to the passenger's side of the black sports car that was now in my driveway.

I slide into the seat. I can't tell if the intensity in the air is imagined or real but I try to ignore it, not wanting to give way to any vulnerability -- but Tyler is like a hawk circling it's prey and I fear that at any moment he's going to dive. A glass bottle of clear liquid is slid into my hands. I feel my fingers wrap around it's neck as I shoot Tyler a look. 

"Starting early, huh," I say coolly, but I take a drink anyway. 

He chuckles softly. "Just want you to be comfortable. You seem tense."

"Not at all," I say taking another drink. 

I'm not usually a drinker but tonight I'm determined to enjoy myself. The bitter liquid courses down my throat like hot magma. A wave of calm taking over my body follows behind every swallow. I feel myself sink further down. The seat is heated and it fills me with an increasing comfort. I'm feeling so comfortable I didn't notice Tyler's hand on my knee. 

I look at him, ready to protest but something stops me. I study his face. Something about the way his features sharpened in the darkness of the car caught me off guard like I was seeing him through someone else's eyes. He has thick tousled black hair against olive skin. His face, chiseled and almost perfectly symmetrical. His jawline so sharp and defined, it looks like it is drawn. His dark brown eyes were wide and intense under thick, yet shapely eyebrows. The light from the moon that shines through the window into the darkness only accentuates his features.

"You're beautiful," I say, gazing up at him dreamily -- a thought that was meant to stay in my head. 

Tyler looks at me with raised brows, an amused smile on his face. He laughs. "You're crazy."

"You have no idea," I mutter, turning my head to look out the window.  
We talk the whole drive about nothing in particular. I'm glad he seemingly forgets my previous comment. The longer we talk, the more I wonder what it was that made me dislike him before. He's funny, charming, charismatic -- all the traits a girl should look out for when trying not to lose herself. Still, I was enjoying his company so much I'm genuinely disappointed when we reach our destination. 

I peer out the window and gaze up at the huge concrete warehouse building we pulled up in front of. 

"I thought we were going to Lea's," I question curiously though not at all disappointed. The liquor has dulled all my sense of worry and doubt. 

"Lea's here," was his simple reply. "Come on."

I take one more drink from the now half-empty bottle of alcohol and open the door. I attempt to stand but the ground moves under me and I stagger a bit. Like lighting, Tyler is already beside me, helping me to regain my balance. I give him a thankful smile.  
  
"Hallie!" 

Suddenly from out of the warehouse comes Lea laughing and smiling widely. She throws her arms around my neck in greeting, before grabbing me by the wrist and all but dragging me inside the building. 

The atmosphere is amazing; the flashing lights, heart-pumping music. A colorful haze fills the air. I spin around and stop when I see that Lea has been replaced by Tyler. I glance around to see her mixed in with the crowd, dancing with some unknown guy. Our eyes meet and she gives me an encouraging smile and nod. 

Tyler grabs me by the waist as our bodies move closer and closer together, feeling the rhythm of the music inside us. I wrap my hands around his shoulders as he pulls me toward him. It happens so fast, I have no time to think, let alone give anything other than cooperation. He's looking deep into my eyes and I can't look away. He takes a long drag from the joint he's holding and shotguns me before turning it into a kiss. I feel his tongue push something into my mouth, a pill. Without hesitating, I swallow and we continue to kiss. 

The haze combined with the heavy smoke, envelopes us in its cloud of ecstasy. Despite the upbeat music, our movements are slow, sensual. My whole world becomes shrouded in pixels and streams of blurred light. I completely let myself go to the feeling and to him. 


	16. Chapter 16

Over the next two or three weeks, this had become my routine. I spent less time at my own home and more at Tyler's. I had withdrawn from everyone except him. He was a flashlight in a dark cave, something I desperately needed. To feel that I was alive, to feel anything at all, ironically came in the form of self-deprecation. The stronger my urge to feel, the more numb I became. But all of this came at a price.

Tyler was a light, yes, but instead of a flashlight in a dark cave he was an open flame in a room of acetate. Being with him was exciting, exhilarating. Every moment was an amazing adventure. Until it wasn't. I don't know when the change became significant enough for others to notice but every morning I open my eyes in this room and see the tattered bath towel covering the small bedroom window and wonder why I'm here.

I feel a piece of my hair being removed from my forehead as Tyler softly tucks it behind my ear. He pushes up against me leaving soft kisses from my forehead to my neck. I furrow my brow and shake my head in an attempt to push him off of me. He smiles against my skin rubbing my thigh. 

"Aww," he teases. "You cranky, baby?"

I remain silent, my eyes closed as I pretend to be sleep. I hear him chuckle lowly as he pulls me toward him so that I am now on my back. I try to return to my side but he holds me in place. He takes my face in one hand and squeezes so that my lips poke out. He takes the opportunity to kiss me roughly on the lips. Disgusted, I push him off me, slapping him hard on the chest. Tyler only laughs. He grabs my wrists and holds them above my head as he moves himself on top of me, preventing me from any movement. He comes down so that his face is mere inches away from mine. 

"You want me to cook you something?" He asks, suggestively. 

He begins kissing my neck again, his grip around my wrists tightening. He brings his eyes back to mine and I nod obediently. He smirks, satisfied with the knowledge that he still has what I need and is therefore in a position of power. "That's my girl". 

Tyler comes back up and kisses me hard on the lips. This time I don't protest. I kiss his with equal fervor, causing him to let go of my wrists. I use my newfound freedom to wrap my arms around his neck pulling myself closer toward him. He pushes his body harder onto mine until I'm laying flat against the mattress. He begins to undo his jeans, sliding his belt off with one pull. Suddenly, I stop. 

"Damn, Hallie," he curses, frustrated. "You really know how to get me worked up."

I smile at him mischievously. "Get the stuff, baby. Then you get me."

He curses again and bites his bottom lip as his eyes scan my body. Kissing me once more, Tyler jumps up from the bed.

"Wait for me," he says before quickly walking out the door. 

I fall back onto the pillow and sigh as I rub a hand across my face. I look down at myself to realize I'm wearing only my underwear and a cutoff shirt I don't remember changing in to. For a moment, I imagine the low buzzing I hear to be nothing more than just that, my imagination; but when I feel the vibration near my leg I realize it's my phone. 

I attempt to kick the phone closer within grabbing distance but stop as Tyler comes back into the room carrying a bag of white powder. He fixes up five long lines, watching me through his peripheral gaze. I stare at him, smiling slowly when his eyes return to mine. He holds out a cut plastic straw to me. I take a breath before inhaling the powder into my nose. The powder turns to liquid as it begins to drip down my quickly numbing throat. 

An immediate warmness overtakes my body as every nerve, every muscle relaxes to the point of almost complete immobility. I feel my eyes grow heavier by the second and an incurable itch that translates into a tickle crawls around my neck. I smile as I allow my head to fall backward and even though I'm sitting down, I have to close my eyes to steady myself. 

After taking a hit for himself, Tyler returns the straw to me and I do another line. Just as before, the euphoria envelopes me into it's warm embrace. I let out a deep, satisfied moan as I allow myself to become overtaken by the drug. Anxiety, stress, doubt, and shame are replaced by an overwhelming feeling of detachment, like I'm sitting next to my own body watching myself sway hypnotically.

Tyler lowers me further onto the bed, kissing my neck as he begins to fondle me under the sheer cut-off t-shirt. I lick my lips and moan softly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, my fingers laced behind him. Without another moments hesitation, Tyler undoes his jeans and begins thrusting into me, his roughness increasing with every motion. I gasp and pant hard, my breath escaping my quivering lips against him. 

Though most of my body is numb, his boorish movement causes me to mewl involuntarily. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist and weakly push him back in an attempt to escape his gruffness. My protesting only fuels his eagerness. He smiles and the once excited kisses turn into bites. I dig my fingernails so deep into his back I can see his blood seeping from underneath my fingertips.

"No, don't run from me, baby," he orders, breathing rapidly. "Beg for me."

I try my best to speak but only short gasps leave my mouth as Tyler wraps a hand around my neck. I feel no panic, no urgency or sense of danger. I grab his hand and push further, causing his fingers to wrap tighter. I'm now gasping for air as my vision becomes blurry. Tyler ups his speed, sinking his teeth deeper into my shoulder as his hand releases my neck and moves into my hair pulling it in a clenched fist. He begins moaning loudly, the whole room shaking beneath us. 

One more final push inside me and Tyler let's out a long and satisfied, muffled yell. He collapses on top of me, both of us breathing heavily. His grip on my hair loosens and I let my head fall deeper into the mattress. Tyler remains still in that position, not saying anything. His labored breathing quickly regains its normal rhythm and I feel myself drift off into unconsciousness. 

By the time I awaken, I figure a few hours have passed. The sun is now peaking directly through the window and Tyler is no longer beside me. My body feels weighed down, heavy from fatigue. I sit up and reach for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside stand, packing them before pulling one out and lighting it. I run my fingers through my hair as I lay back against the wall. 

Suddenly, I hear my phone begin to vibrate against the wooden floor. Holding the lit cigarette between my lips, I lazily search the floor next to the bed, feeling around with my hand through half closed lids. Finally I feel the slick plastic cover of my phone and pick it up just seconds after the vibrating stops. 

I switch the phone's screen on to see 11 missed calls and 9 voice messages. My initial thought is that it must be my mother, as I haven't been back home or even called to check up in three days. However, once I begin listening to each message, the identity of the mystery caller is revealed, to my complete and utter surprise, to be none other than Min Yoongi. 


	17. Chapter 17

The cigarette falls from my mouth and onto the floor. I stare at the phone not being able, even refusing to move. I think, if I move then I might wake up and awareness isn't something I want to risk in this moment. My eyes flutter, blinking quickly as my thumb mechanically moves to the keypad and holds down the number 1 to access my voice messages I hold the phone up to my ear as I stare straight at the wall before me, unseeing, and I listen. 

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 5:48 AM:_ **_Hallie...It’s Yoongi. I hope I can still reach you here...I wonder if you've heard..about debut. Maybe you have. I couldn't say anything to you, to anybody. Phones were taken, numbers changed. I should've told you sooner, maybe...Anyway, uh, call me back when you get the chance?_**

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 6:15 AM: **Maybe you're still asleep? What's the time there? I'll call again later.**_

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 6:29 AM:_ **_Hallie. It's me again....answer me, will you?_**

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 7:17 AM: **Hallie, I talked to your dad. He told me you went back to L.A.?...Your mom said she hasn't heard from you for a few days.**_

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 7:46 AM: **Hallie, I need you to call me. I need to know you’re okay. I need you to answer. This isn't like you.**_

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 7:49 AM: **Look..If you're mad at me, I understand. I should've been around for you more, but...I didn’t abandon you, Hallie. I'm here...so don't you abandon me.**_

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 8:29 AM:_ **_Hallie, I need to know you’re okay._**

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 8:38 AM: **I miss you, Hallie...Let me be honest…*sighs*. For a long time, music is the only thing I've commit to…you and the music...but...now, I feel like I’m losing both and I can’t lose you, Hallie. You're all I have.**_

_New Message. Received; Friday, November 25, 2013 at 9:15 AM: **Hallie...could you just..talk to me? I don’t have much to believe in right now. Could you just listen to me?**_

I still hear his voice after the last message ends, Yoongi growing more and distraught with each sound of the beep. I retrieve the still burning cigarette from the floorboard and take a long drag. I lean my head back and exhale into the air, watching the smoke twist and curl in thin wisps. If I could feel anything at all I think I would feel sympathetic. Sympathetic toward my parents and their stress, sympathetic toward Yoongi -- apologetic that I feel nothing. 

The screen lights up as the phone vibrates in my hand. I see the same number appear and before I'm able to convince myself to react any different, I answer. 

"Yoongi," I say. There is slight questioning in my tone but overall, no apparent emotion. 

I receive no quick response. The line is quiet and for a moment I consider hanging up. Suddenly I hear a small sigh of relief come through the receiver.  
  
“You answered,” he says softly. "You're okay."

To hear Yoongi's voice again after so long felt foreign. I couldn't shake the thought of him sounding so far away. Not in the sense of space since he was literally far from me, but in the way of time. Six months felt a lifetime ago and despite how close we had been before, I feel almost as if I'm talking to a complete stranger. I don't know him at all.

I clear my throat as a means of breaking the deafening silence and speak nonchalantly. “Late night. I’ve been sleep. I apologize.”

“Apologize?” He chuckles. “Why so formal?”

I hadn't noticed. It was a rare thing that I spoke polite Korean outside of a professional setting but I felt almost uneasy speaking casually to him. 

“What’s up, Yoongi?” My question unintentionally comes off as annoyed and I can tell by Yoongi's silence that he's taken aback by it. 

The stutter in his voice when he begins to speak takes me by surprise, though you'd never know it by simply looking at or hearing me. 

“I--I w--wanted to see how you’re holding up…”

“Better now, actually," I report. "I've reconnected with some old friends. They’re distracting me enough.”

“That’s good, Hallie.” 

Silence. 

“I tried calling before. I left a few messages--”

“I heard them,” I shot back, harshly. I can't explain why I'm being so short with him. I had secretly wished for this day even before I left Korea but now that it had come, all I felt was indifference. Frustrated, I wipe my hand over my face, suddenly embarrassed by my attitude toward him. It's not fair for me to fault Yoongi for being so busy and therefore having so little time for me. I don't fault him. 

“Hallie, I know you’re pissed. I would be too.” Wrong again. “But I really am sorry for shutting you out. You know I’m not good at expressing things.”

“Neither am I". I pause. I try my best to put on a more sympathetic front, softening my tone a bit. “But I try.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says with finality. “Now let me.”

My anticipation held onto it a nervous energy as I stay silent, giving him the opportunity to continue. Before now, I have never pushed Yoongi to tell me anything. Maybe his lack of actual presence made it easy for me to dissociate. I try. I really do. I close my eyes and try to picture the two of us together in my room or at the park or a beach. 

I try to resurrect my feelings from before, any feeling at all. But it's like I'm underwater. No matter what's going on in the world above, all I can focus on, all I can hear is the suppressed beating of my own heart increasing in speed as my lungs beg for oxygen just before reaching the surface. 

I'm constantly "trying" to do something, to feel something, to say something...so, the least I can do is allow him to do the same. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Hallie.”

I sit up, my brows furrowed in confusion as I urge him to continue. “What do you mean?”

Again, Yoongi sighs, his voice breaking. “I never wanted this, not really. I just wanted to make music…but now…so many people are against us just for doing what we love.”

I'm taken off guard by Yoongi's uncharacteristic insecurity, not quite sure how to respond. “There’s always gonna be criticizers, Yoongi.”

“I know,” he groans, exasperated. “But this guy...he’s saying things I used to believe -- things I might...maybe still do believe.”

Yoongi sounds desperate, like he was pleading. It's so unlike him; so unlike the quasi-confident boy I knew from before that it was almost scary. Yoongi never wanted to show his weaknesses, so he pretended he had none; like if he didn’t talk about them, they didn’t exist. It's something I had always sensed about his character, but never knew just how deep it went. I knew enough of him, however, to know that what he wanted from me was not to tell him what would make him feel better, but for me to give to him what he had always given me. The truth. 

“Who is this guy,” I ask him. “What did he say to you?”

“He said…” Yoongi pauses, remaining silent as he thinks. "Because we’re idols we’re less than them as rappers. He sees me and Namjoon as sellouts for choosing to go mainstream--” 

“Why _did_ you go mainstream?”

Yoongi stumbles over his words, momentarily stupefied over the intention behind my question. He quickly gathers himself and answers defensively, “Because of you.”

His unexpected answer leaves me stuck.

Yoongi clears his throat, clarifying. “Remember that time we went to the train yard? At that time, rapping was just a hobby. I just wanted to produce. But what you said to me made me think maybe I have something more, something they should hear.”

A genuine smile makes it's way onto my lips as I remembered the night that felt like ages ago, and just like then, I still think the same way. What I read in his notebook was different from what I'd heard him say as a member of BTS. Yoongi's original lyrics were deeper, they carried more feeling. Feelings that, at the time, I hadn't known could be put into words. Yoongi's lyrics spoke to me on a personal level. They touched the very essence of my core. 

Because for the first time, I saw that the darkness I recognized inside myself, the thoughts of insecurity, anxiety, and depression, were being experienced by another person. I didn't have to feel alone because I wasn't. I wanted Yoongi to show that person to the world. But it did not and does not matter what I want. 

“Yoongi,” I start, slowly. “Don’t think about what I've said. Don’t think about what that guy says. What is it that _you_ want? What do you believe?”

“What I want…” Yoongi draws in a hissing breath and hesitates. “I want to be heard. It’s not about fame or money, it’s about recognition.”

“Then do you, Yoongi. Fuck what anybody else thinks. That way, when you prove them wrong, you’ll know it’s because you’re better.”

“Hallie…” Yoongi breathes a laugh, lightening his tone. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Yoongi.”

“No, I do.” His voice becomes serious. “And not just for this. I mean for everything; for picking up, for staying on, hearing me out…everything. I couldn’t get on without you.” 

I smile in spite of myself at Yoongi's revelation. Yoongi grieved on the inside. He was the epitome of the "suffer in silence" type. This was the first time he ever spilled his soul to me. It gave me a sense of being needed, made me feel necessary. 

“Please take care of yourself," I plead in a hushed tone. " I couldn’t make it without you either.”

“You won’t have to,” he assures me. “I mean everything I said in those messages, Hallie.”

That, I never doubted. 

“You’ll never lose me, Yoongi.”


	18. Chapter 18

I watch the hot water pour heavily from the faucet into the already filling tub. I watch but I don't see. I feel like I'm in a dream. The water runs but there's no sound. Everything begins to blur in front of me as I sink further into the tub, the warm water rising slowly over my head.   
I find myself in a different place, a different world altogether. A world where I'm not tied down, bound by the oppressive chains put on me by Tyler and everything he offered.

I could see myself wasting away, falling deeper and deeper into this void filled with nothing but black matter. I am broken, and perhaps most concerning of all is that there is no will I feel to change that. It's always there, the silence. There's a chill in that silence; a darkness I'm always running through, running from -- looking for even a spark of light, no matter how small. 

Part of it's pain, some of it's bitterness. I feel dirty, ashamed. The intimacy I share with Tyler is anything but. Passion without compassion is oppression, and I was a slave to his lips, to his body. 

Because I don’t have to think when I'm with him. There's no feeling, no emotion. The damp mattress he leaves behind, perfumed with sweat and lust; circled in a haze of regret and doubt haunt through the air. And I like it there. 

I wonder if I’m not just a little nostalgic. Yearning for that touch, that voice of a boy whispering in my ear and kissing me softly; lying wordlessly in a field. But Yoongi couldn’t love me, not the way I wanted him to. And it was this realization that made me resent him. We grew distant. It wasn’t like before. I withdrew myself. 

Yoongi was already so busy. I couldn’t burden him with my troubles on top of his own. So, I take the route of self-medicating, using any and everything to make me feel good, make me feel alive. Because even if it is only temporary happiness, even if contrived, it's still happiness. No matter how short lived. 

My head breaks through the surface of the water and I gasp deeply, taking in the humid air. The water flows over the edge of the tub, gathering into a pool on the bathroom floor. 

After quickly cutting off the running water, I let out an exasperated sigh as I wipe the remaining water from my face. I ignore the remaining puddle and leave the bathroom, drying my dripping hair with a towel as I head toward my bedroom. I throw the towel onto my bed. A familiar ringtone plays from my already opened laptop at the exact moment the towel lands next to it. I unconsciously press the space bar, answering the call as I walk to my dresser.

"Oh!"

I turn my head to the screen to see a shocked and slightly embarrassed Yoongi turned to the side, his hand covering his eyes. "I'm sorry, Hallie. You didn't have to answer. I'll call back."

I listen to his rushed and stuttered response as I calmly gather the white powder on the top of my dresser into a tiny metal scoop and snort it without hesitation.

"It's fine," I say, sniffing. "Just give me a second." 

I grab a large t-shirt from the floor and throw it on, covering my naked body. Ruffling my still wet hair, I walk over to my bed, plopping down in front of the computer. Yoongi hesitantly peeks at the screen from the corner of his eye, making sure I'm completely covered before lowering his hand entirely. I light up a cigarette as he tries to regain his composure. 

"Don't be so coy, Yoongi," I say, a small grin appearing on my face. "It's not like you've never seen my body before. I mean, we did f--"

Yoongi cuts me off before I can finish. "Don't be crass, Hallie."

I inwardly shrug as I throw my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head. I listen, wordlessly, as Yoongi tells me how things are going with him and asks me how they've been going with me. He tells me about his time as an idol and how he and his group will be coming to Los Angeles soon to film a television show. I do my best to feign excitement,or at least interest, but my reaction is leaden.

"That's good, Yoongi."

Yoongi huffs a laugh. "Just good?"

I shrug again. "Great?"

My eyes feel heavy and I struggle to stay awake. Yoongi stays quiet for a long time. So long, in fact, that I begin to wonder whether we've somehow been disconnected. I look back to the screen to see him with a stern look on his face, worry hidden deep beneath his stare. 

“What’s going on, Hallie,” he asks in a tone suggesting already.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yoongi,” I reply, dully.

Under different circumstances I may have been able to hide it better but when Yoongi could read my face, denial was null. I haven't the intention nor desire to lie to him. The look of concern he displays only frustrates me further. He frustrates me. 

“Oh, you don’t, huh?”

I shake my head 'no' to his rhetorical question, dumbfounded. 

“Hallie, we don't talk anymore," he accuses. "You’re always tired but you wont sleep; you look like you’ve been up for days. Your eyes are bloodshot, your pupils are huge, your skin looks grey—”

“Damn,” I start with a sarcastic, unamused smile. “You could’ve just said I was ugly and moved on.” 

Yoongi looks at me, his face blank. 

I sigh adding, “I’m fine,Yoongi.”

“No,” he bites back without missing a beat. He shakes his head. “No, this isn’t fine.”

“Well, Yoongi,” I respond evenly, avoiding his gaze. “You know me better than anyone, don’t you?”

Until now, I had never really gotten cross with Yoongi. We rarely argued and when we did, there was no real malice behind anything we said. Now, I feel myself grow more and more defiant toward him. 

It's not that I'm mad. Not really. I have no reason to be. I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated and annoyed, not just at him but at everyone, everything. Frustrated at everything and nothing all at the same time. 

It had been several weeks since our last conversation, though not from his lack of trying. He had great news. An opportunity finally arrived to where we would get to see each other after over a year. Why was he trying to turn this into something it's not? 

I can see the questioning in his eyes at my not-so-sudden change in behavior and his unsettlement toward my change in attitude toward him. I've always been calm with him, always understanding, always the one to back down first. Until now. 

“I try to,” he says, innocently.  
  
“Do you,” I ask rhetorically, mimicking his tone from before  
.  
“Hallie, you know I do.”

“Do I?”

As much as he tries to hide it, I sense his growing irritation. 

He breathes deep. “Ok, Hallie, cut the bullshit. This is me you’re talking to.”

“I know who I’m talking to, Yoongi. Or is it Suga now? I can’t keep up.”

“Is that what this is about?” Even though he's yelling there is still a calm carried in his tone, unique only to Yoongi.  
  
I sigh, running my hand over my eyes. The more lackadaisical I become, the more irritation comes to him; and the greater his irritation, the more embittered I feel toward him.  
  
“I really don’t want to get into this with you, Yoongi.”

I feel my anxiety rise within me, coupled over with something I cannot explain. It was never my intention to hurt or anger him. No, never him. I pull myself back, closing my eyes as he continues to speak. Noticing my own vulnerability, Yoongi softens his tone. He sighs and moves closer to the screen.  
  
“I know you’re hurting, Hallie. I wish I could always be there. I wish you wouldn’t have left. Maybe...” He pauses, turning slightly sideways in his chair, now trying desperately to avoid looking at me. 

“When I’m feeling like I wanna give up, I think of you. I think about why I started this and I hear your voice. I turn to my members for strength. It helps....but I’m never more vulnerable than I am with you. You have the power to really hurt me, Hallie. Permanently. And I know you don't realize that because...because if you did, if you really understood you wouldn't....” 

His voice trails off and as if finishing his thought for him, I interject. 

“Yoongi…” I take a breath, looking down at my keyboard unable to meet his eyes. Even if he was only on a screen I feel as though he's here in the room with me. 

I become self conscious; now more than ever before. I feel the drug wearing and I desperately try to hold on to what little effects brought me just moments before. I stammer. I choke on the words without even attempting to verbalize them. My eyes are fixed, but not on him -- on the keyboard in front of me. I feel hot tears threaten to fall but the relief that comes with a therapeutic cry escapes me completely.  
  
I don't look at him. I can't. I refuse. Because I don't want to see the look that would prevent me from going through with what's coming next. Still, I feel his gaze upon me. I feel the pleading in his eyes without even seeing them. That pleading that let's me know, he too sees it. 

“If you didn’t have music…didn’t have BTS…and I don’t mean the group.” I glance shyly toward the screen and see him looking back at me. No, not looking. Glaring. Do I really want to open this door, I ask myself. Show him who I really am? What goes on inside of me? What I feel? What I think? Before I can answer these questions for myself, I hear myself speak. “If you kept feeling nothing...where would you be?”

And in that moment, after all the time we had known each other, all the time spent together, I see Yoongi’s eyes widen, a powerfuk intensity completely foreign to anything I've seen from him before or since; as if seeing, really seeing for the first time the person on the other side of the screen. Truly understanding what it was I spoke of and being all the more frightened for not having seen it before. 

Yoongi shakes his head, slowly at first and then more frantic as he stumbles over words. “H-Hallie, no!”

 _Don't look at him,_ I tell myself. _It wont make it any easier._

I don't listen. I look up at Yoongi's panicked expression. I feel like I'm running on borrowed time. Even though it's being borrowed from my own life, time is something I am unable to repay. 

Why is everything slowing down? 

Our eyes meet and for a moment, too quick for me to be sure of it's validity, I witness something in Yoongi that shakes me to the core. I feel it in my chest, in the pit of my stomach. Something I cannot describe. I look at him, maybe only a second but it feels like an eternity. Yoongi? Min Yoongi? Begging? Pleading? Regret? All of these without saying a word. He is frozen, completely stiff and in that second I want to reveal everything. 

Everything I know he already knows. One thing I'd swear he didn't. But it's gone. Just as quickly as I notice it, it's' gone. He think he's won. There's a sign of relief. He thinks he's succeeded. But under even that is something too unsettling for me to put into words. 

"I'm sorry, Yoongi.”

My voice is low and quiet. I'm not speaking. I swear I didn't say anything; my mouth never opened, but the panic returns to him and I can feel it as if it were initially mine. There's so much more I want to say. So much more I want to hear.

“Hallie, please. Just stop." _Desperation._ "I'm here. Just talk to me, Hallie. Like we used to. Just like before." _Desolation._ "It's still me, Hallie. I'm still me. Please don't do this to me. I lo—"

But I never hear it. Anything. Everything. Nothing.

Amongst Yoongi's desperate pleas, I slowly close my laptop; hugging it in my arms before bringing it to my lips, tears falling as I hold it tightly before kissing it. I never wanted to hurt Yoongi. I never wanted to be the thing that broke him. I had always believed Yoongi was the thing keeping me going. That he somehow held the key to unlock the happiness that hid deep inside me. But I realized then that he was only a distraction, an excuse. Something I wanted so much that I convinced myself he was a necessity. 

I had to realize I wasn’t Yoongi’s responsibility and putting that burden on him was unfair. To both of us. He was my crutch and I was his, and once he was able to walk without me I was no longer a necessity.  
  
I pull the small diary from under my bed and open it straight to the page with the square-shaped hole. I remove the small bag of brown powder. Underneath is a syringe, a small plastic vial of water, a tin cup and a lighter. I pour the contents of the plastic bag into the cup, mixing my final shot. I silence my constantly vibrating phone before sticking the needle into my arm. 

A dull rush flows through my cranium harder than expected. My brain tingles and sizzles as if being cooked. My ears plug and my hearing mutes completely. My entire body burns but only for a second, before becoming numb. With fleeing consciousness, I take the last object from the cut pages of my diary – a metal scalpel. Pressing the scalpel firmly to my wrist I cut downward along my arm. 

I don't cry. I don’t even wince. Instead, from out the back of my throat comes a agonizing laugh that turns into low, gurgled gasps as my arm peels open like the Red Sea, temporarily white and lumpy before the exposed tissue is submerged in blood. Although silent, I see Yoongi’s picture appear on my phone screen before closing my eyes and letting darkness overcome. 


End file.
